


a blade buried in wet soil

by SoDoRoses (FairyChess)



Series: Love and Other Fairytales [18]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Animal Death, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Angst, Body Horror, Eldritch, Harm to Animals, Logic | Logan Sanders Angst, M/M, Mind Control, Mob Mentality, Morality | Patton Sanders Angst, Violence, also if you like thomas-as-character-in-laoft, this is gonna hurt like a bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 03:35:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18683338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyChess/pseuds/SoDoRoses
Summary: Let's play the blame gameNo winners.





	a blade buried in wet soil

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from Love In The Time Of Undeath by Guante

Roman wondered, bewildered, what on earth  _Robbie Harris’ mom_ was doing at their house before dawn. Logan and Patton seemed equally confused. Virgil seemed more perturbed by the baffled glances they were all exchanging without him.

“Oh, May, good! You’re awake, good, good,”

Mrs. Harris pushed past Mamaw into the house. Roman bit his lip in amusement at the openly hostile look this got her, which he could just barely see around the corner of the hallway. Mrs. Harris fiddled with her hair, somehow perfectly curled despite the time of night.

“Your boy’s asleep, right?”

“Sure is,” Mamaw lied, and Mrs. Harris didn’t seem to notice her icy tone at all.

“Good, good,” Mrs. Harris repeated. She shook herself, twitching with nervous energy.

“Do you mind if I smoke in here?” she said, reaching for her purse without waiting for an answer.

“Not at all,” said Mamaw, “just as long as ya put the lit end in yer mouth,”

Mrs. Harris finally seemed to take notice of the blatantly unwelcoming expression on Mamaw’s face.

“… right,” said Mrs. Harris, “Well, I- I came to get you. We’re having a town meeting,”

“Oh, this outta be good,” Mamaw muttered.

“It’s about what happened at the school this morning,” said Mrs. Harris haughtily, “You heard?”

“Do ya think I’m blind and deaf as well as dumb and a half, Karen?  _Yes_ , I heard. Get to the damn point,”

“It’s happened again,” said Mrs. Harris. “Several attacks,”

“And what, do tell, does this meetin’ intend to do about it?”

“Well it’s obvious, ain’t it?” snapped Mrs. Harris, “The Folk of the Air are trying to get that damn changeling back!”

Roman had lunged before he thought about it, and it was only Logan’s quick reflexes wrapping around his chest that stopped him from storming into the living room and telling Mrs. Harris exactly where she could shove it.

“What was that?” said Mrs. Harris.

“Impulsive idiot,” muttered Dizzy, darting out of Roman’s room and around the corner, making sure to scramble into several pieces of furniture noisily.

“Eugh,” said Mrs. Harris. “I forgot you had an…  _animal_. I’m not keen myself,”

“Well, I’m not keen on-”

Roman was suddenly very glad Mrs. Harris couldn’t hear Dizzy.

“Anyway,” said Mrs. Harris. “It’s gotta be done. Some of the kids and others still haven’t woken up. They have marks, cursed ones. The Folk of the Air wont let them wake until they have the changeling back,”

“Interestin’ conclusion,” said Mamaw dryly, “And how convenient for you, that the kid your boy hates so much won’t be a problem no more?”

Mrs. Harris’s face pinched in distaste.

“This has nothing to do with that,”

“‘Course not,” said Mamaw.

Mrs. Harris was clearly bristling.

“It’s not Robbie’s fault the changeling-”

“Wouldn’t ya know it,” Mamaw cut her off, “But Logan’s got a name, imagine that. Had it going on seventeen years,”

“Like you’re any better!” spat Mrs. Harris.

Mamaw went worryingly silent.

“Disowned your own daughter for choosing the changeling over you,” Mrs. Harris continued, “And don’t think everybody didn’t  _know_  the reason you home schooled Roman was to keep them apart,”

“Enough,” said Mamaw.

Logan still had his arms around Roman, and his chest was becoming an increasingly tense line against Roman’s back.

“Roman was nearly three when Abby died, wasn’t he? Old enough to ask about why he couldn’t see the changeling anymore I bet,”

“ _I said_ _enough_ ,” Mamaw replied, and even though her voice was deadly quiet Mrs. Harris recoiled like she’d been struck.

After a tense moment, Mrs. Harris smoothed her shirt.

“I’m only  _saying_ ,” she continued, calmer now, “That you were right, obviously, to be suspicious, we  _all_  were. And everyone is already there discussing how this is gonna go; I volunteered to come get you,”

She seemed to think she deserved some sort of commendation. Mamaw did not oblige.

“Everyone’s already  _where_?”

Mrs. Harris looked at Mamaw like she thought she was stupid.

“At the Sanders’ house, of course,”

Logan’s arms tightened, almost clinging at this point. Roman leaned back into him, trying to comfort without moving too much and giving them all away.

Mamaw didn’t speak for a long moment.

“Alright,” she said.

Mrs. Harris seemed a little taken aback at first, but then she clapped in a finalizing way, pleasantly surprised.

“Well, that’s perfect!” she said, “I left the car running, so-”

“Nah,” said Mamaw, “I’m perfectly capable of drivin’ myself, no thank you. Get out,”

“Get- Excuse me?”

“Yer excused. Get out,” she replied. After a pause, she added a needless clarification. “Of My house,”

Mrs. Harris gaped.

“Do ya need it in writin’?” said Mamaw, voice deceptively polite.

Mrs. Harris made an offended noise and stalked out of the house, slamming the front door behind her.

The four of them were in the living room nearly before it was shut, and Mamaw gave them all a weary look.

“Subtlety,” she said flatly, “Do ya have  _any_  of it? Any at all?”

“Not really, Ms. Gage,” said Patton apologetically, which actually startled a snort out of her.

“Alright,” she said, “Shoes, all a’ ya,”

“Why?” said Logan warily.

“You heard Karen, we got a townful a’ idiots to beat over the head,”

Logan took a step back.

“I have been barred from m- from the house,”

Roman caught the stutter, the avoidance of calling it his  _own_  house, and for the first time ever,  _really_  wanted to yell as Mrs. Sanders.

It was obvious to Roman. People must have already come to the house earlier – Mrs. Sanders hadn’t wanted to give them a reason to be more suspicious of Logan, or a chance to demand where he’d been when he couldn’t lie. But hell if she hadn’t gone about it just exactly the wrong way.

“Yes, well,” said Mamaw, “Seein’ as I’m near old enough to be Dorothy’s momma twice over, if I say yer goin’ in the house, yer goin’ in the damn house,”

Logan shook his head.

“I refuse to impose my presence where it is not wanted, Ms. Gage,”

“Not  _wanted_?”

The sheer fury in Mamaw’s voice made all of them take a step back, and at the same time Roman reflexively pushed Logan forward. A little juvenile, but Logan had basically brought it on himself, in Roman’s opinion.

“Yes, not wanted,” snapped Logan, “Surely you cannot mean to argue that point when my parents have gathered the entire town populous in order to discuss returning me like a broken clock,”

Yeah, that about settled it – Roman was gonna have to fight Mrs. Sanders. Shame; he really liked her.

“That’s yer conclusion?” demanded Mamaw, fuming and incredulous, “That’s what ya’ve taken away from tonight? Do ya have any faith in yer Momma at all?”

Logan flinched, and then his face twisted.

“It is not as if  _you_  have historically put faith in my mother’s decision making skills,” he blurted.

Logan’s mouth snapped shut. His eyes went just a bit wider; he’d obviously regretted it the second it had come out of his mouth.

Mamaw worked her jaw back and forth.

“How long ya been holdin’ on to that one?” she said flatly.

Logan didn’t respond.

“Ya need to understand somethin,’” she said, “And I’m sorry I didn’t apparently make this clear enough. The fight I had with Abigail, and Dorothy, and keeping Roman outta school, and fuckin’ off into the forest for ten years hidin’ from the rest a’ the town like a coward?”

She held her hands open, gesturing wide.

“All a’ that is  _my problem_ , Logan. I’m a grown woman, and have been for quite a while, if ya can’t tell. I’ll be pleased if ya don’t act like a teenage boy, in a tie two sizes too big for him, is capable a’  _makin_ ’ me do anythin,’”

She shook her head, a little exasperated.

“And now that you’ve dragged a bunch a sentimentality outta me,” she said dryly, “We  _are_  goin’ to yer house, and we  _are_  gonna pitch a conniption fit at every moron who seems to think a single seventeen-year-old boy, outta be held responsible for an entire fairy courts bullshit. Because again,  _their problem_. Now do  _not_  make me tell ya again to  _get yer damn shoes on_ ,”

Roman wasn’t sure, but he thought Logan chin might have wobbled, just a tad. He blinked rapidly for a few seconds, and then nodded.

“…yes, ma’am,” he said quietly.

He didn’t speak again until they were outside, when Roman moved to help Mamaw down the porch steps and Logan beat him there, just a little hesitant.

“My tie is the correct size,” he muttered.

Mamaw smiled, reaching up and patting his face.

“No,” she said, “It really ain’t, baby,”

* * *

When they pulled up in front of Logan’s house, he took in the dozens of cars lining the driveway and the street and wondered if perhaps Mrs. Harris had not been exaggerating when she said the whole town was here.

Some of the cars were actually double parked, including Ms. Gage’s once she swore loud enough for the four of them to hear through the back window from the truck bed. She threw it in park in the middle of the street and got out, muttering mutinously.

“Someone hits my truck- better not-”

“Oh, better not hit your truck?” said Roman, “The truck you used as a battering ram about four hours ago? That truck?”

“Someone smack him, I’m too far away,”

Patton, impossibly gentle, papped Roman on his upper arm. Logan felt like his heart lurched forward, towards them.

Ms. Gage led them up to the porch, and as they approached Logan could hear indistinct voices from within, raised but not quite shouting. Ms. Gage didn’t bother knocking, merely clicked the knob and shoved the door open, stepping into the living room as it clattered into the wall.

“Hope someone brought booze, seein’ as we’re havin’ a party apparently,”

Logan felt rooted to the spot. No one had seen him, or the others behind Ms. Gage – it would be simple to turn around and leave, avoid the confrontation which Logan could not think of a single possible good outcome for.

Unfortunately, he was apparently very predictable, at least to Ms. Gage.

“Logan, Roman! Help me sit,”

Well, there went his opportunity to flee.

They followed her in, gripping her arms on either side. Logan carefully did not look at anyone, his eyes focused on the – for some reason unoccupied – couch so intently that the faces around them blurred into one indistinct mass.

“Who are  _you_?”

In Logan’s nervousness, he’d actually quite forgotten that he was, for once, not the most supernaturally distinctive person in the room.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” said Virgil, his voice low and dangerously quiet. Goosebumps rose on Logan’s arms.

When Ms. Gage was sitting, Logan turned back around. If his voice had been enough to raise goosebumps, the way Virgil  _looked_  at the moment was enough to make something equal parts petrified and and exhilarated chase up Logan’s spine.

It didn’t even matter that Virgil was wearing a slightly ratty college sweatshirt and comically overlarge sweatpants. He’d drawn himself up to his full height, towering over most of the room, the contrast of his pale skin and dark hair so stark they were nearly disorienting. The air almost seemed to crackle around him. He was terrifying. He was impossibly beautiful.

Virgil’s gaze flickered over to Logan for a scant moment, the corners of his eyes softening slightly, and then moved back to the other occupants of the room. He leaned against the wall in a deceptively casual pose that didn’t do anything to diminish his presence at all.

It was on  _purpose_ , Logan realized. He was playing it up for the mortals, to make Logan look harmless in comparison.

The urge to march across the room and kiss him was not  _impossible_ to ignore, but certainly more difficult than it ought to have been.

Finally he looked to the rest of the occupants of the room, crammed into both the living room and the kitchen, visible through the wide door.

On the kitchen side were his and Patton’s parents, all of them sitting except Mrs. Waller, who hadn’t even turned around to look at the newest additions to the crowd. She was  _cooking_. Some kind of breakfast casserole, it looked like, the dish buttered, the eggs and other ingredients laid out along the counter.

His parents and Patton’s father were sitting at the table, facing the living room – Dad was sitting up perfectly straight, and he looked calm in the way Logan knew meant he was barely restraining the urge to be viciously sarcastic. Mr. Waller seemed  _genuinely_  calm by comparison, but he was a very…  _large_  man, and his presence alone could be intimidating, thought not nearly so much as Virgil.

Mom was glaring directly at Ms. Gage like she wanted to wring her neck like a chicken.

“See!” shouted Mrs. Harris, “You see, he’s been out all night!”

“Would ya look at that, we’ve  _all_  been out tonight,” said Ms. Gage dryly, “Unless y’all got some new-fangled teleportation technology ya haven’t shared,”

“That’s clearly different!” said someone else, a man, and Logan couldn’t quite see him through the throng of people to identify him. “He’s been with  _Them_! He brought one  _back!_ ”

“You don’t know that,” said Mom.

“Ask him then!”

Someone took a step towards Logan, not quite a lunge but vaguely threatening. Roman threw himself forward, standing between them.

“Don’t you  _fucking_  dare!”

“Dragging the other children into trouble now!”

“Multiple instances of vandalism-”

“Picking fights with my daughter-”

The voices started to overlap, raised and increasingly hostile, and Logan didn’t have anywhere to go. There were too many people, and the idea of touching them to push his way though made him want to crawl out of his skin.

“ _You_  brought all this down on us when you stole him from the fae!” someone accused Mom, and she didn’t respond. Her gaze was focused on the wall, her eyes shiny but her face impassive.

“ _Excuse me!”_

Logan’s eyes snapped up towards the voice, at the top of the stairs. Thomas was standing there, his face blotchy and red and streaked with tears but his expression hard and blank as stone.

“Well,” he said, his voice rasping but steady, “You did your very best to wake me up, I guess,”

Logan knew for a fact that Thomas had been awake since he left – though why he was choosing to leave their room now, Logan had no idea.

He walked down the steps, and Logan could see, just barely, the trembling in his shoulders under the gaze of everyone in the room. Thomas hated being the center of attention. What on earth was he doing?

He turned toward the man who’d accused Mom – Dr. Quickel, the dentist – and straightened his shoulders.

“You’re right,” he said, and the bottom dropped out of Logan’s stomach.

Dr. Quickel seemed suddenly wrong footed, but he nodded, hesitant.

“… see, Thomas understands, Dot,”

Thomas mirrored the nod, and Logan’s ears were beginning to ring. He’d taken Roman’s hand without noticing, and his grip surely had to be painful but Roman didn’t complain or even flinch.

“Yup,” said Thomas perfunctorily, “We should give back what we took from the fae,”

Logan made an involuntarily, feeble noise. Roman’s other hand wrapped around Logan’s bicep and squeezed.

More people were nodding now, and Logan thought he could just barely see horrified expressions on his parents faces, but it was no comfort – he couldn’t turn to look closer, or take his eyes of his brother, who looked for all the world like what he was saying caused him no grief at all.

“I’m glad you understand, Tommy,” said Mrs. Harris primly.

“Sure do,” said Thomas, “So who’s gonna help me pack?”

All conversation died instantly.

Dr. Quickel paled.

“Thomas- you- you’re misunderstanding,”

“No, you are,” said Thomas, and his eyes – the most different part of them, warm brown where Logan’s were cool silver – they were like fire now, blazing and furious.

“Mama didn’t take Logan from the fae. The fae traded him for me. I was the one they wanted,”

“But that’s-”

Thomas barreled on.

“It was a transaction,” he said, his hands curling into fists, “A fair trade. By  _their_  laws, I’m the one that belongs to them. So who’s. Helping me.  _Pack?_ ”

“You’re  _human,_ ” blurted Mrs. Harris, “You belong  _here_ ,”

“ _My brother belongs here._ He belongs with  _me_ , and our parents, and his friends,” Thomas said, “And if the fae are owed anything it’s the baby they bought  _in the first place_ ,”

Logan finally found his voice.

“ _Falsehood!_ ”

He was shaking his head so rapidly he couldn’t see, and his glasses slipped down his nose.

“I’ll go,” he said, “It’s-”  _not fine, not even a little_ , “I can go. I will go,”

Because Eirwen  _would_  take Thomas, if she caught even the vaguest whisper of such a deal. Take him and delight in it, might even release Logan from his curse in  _thanks_ , because they both knew there was nothing,  _nothing_  she could do to him that could  _possibly_ be worse than the knowledge that Thomas had taken his place.

“There is no need to argue any further,” said Logan, and he could not help but be proud that his voice didn’t shake, “I will go willingly,”

And really… would it be  _so_  bad? There was Virgil now – surely Logan’s family could visit safely, occasionally, with his help? Logan would be miserable, certainly, but not as bad it would have been before, and not  _completely_ alone. Logan could tolerate it. He could.

And hadn’t he just been delaying the inevitable anyway? This was always how the story was going to end.

“As always, you missed the point big time, Berry,” said Thomas with a watery and exasperated smile.

“See, he said he’ll go!” said Mrs. Harris.

“ _No one_  is going anywhere!” snapped Mom.

“He isn’t happy here anyway! He should be with his own kind,”

“Right, ‘cuz yer so concerned with Logan’s happiness,” said Ms. Gage lightly, and Logan wondered if she really was doing her best to exacerbate the situation as much as was feasibly possible.

“It’s what’s best for  _everyone_ , if you would just-”

“ _Enough_!” roared Dad, and Logan actually took an entire step back, bumping the couch, because not once in his life had his father ever sounded so absolutely furious.

Dad pushed through the people between them, and Logan couldn’t help but shrink in. Dad’s face was set and hard, even as he placed soothing hands on Logan’s shoulders.

“You know I hate asking you yes or no questions Logan,” he said firmly, “But I’m gonna need an answer. Do you want to go live with the fae?”

“He said he’d-”

“I  _did not_ ask you,” Dad snapped at Mrs. Harris.

Logan kept his eyes firmly on the collar of Dad’s shirt.

“It makes sense to-”

“Not what I asked, buddy,” said Dad, a little gentler, squeezing Logan’s shoulders in a reassuring way, “Do you  _want_  to go?”

“… No,” said Logan, quiet and small.

“Then you won’t,” said Dad, like it really was that simple.

“And if that  _thing_  keeps coming after him?”

He could hear Ms. Gage sit up straight behind him, presumably to clarify the nature of the creature, seeing as she was the resident expert on it.

She didn’t get the chance.

Mom leapt to her feet so quickly that the chair she was sitting in flew backward and clattered to the floor.

“ _I don’t_ _CARE_ _!”_

Her composure had snapped entirely – her eyes were spilling over with tears and her face was wrought with absolute fury.

“I  _do not_  care, do you understand me?”

Mrs. Harris made some kind of incredulous noise but Mom didn’t give her chance to speak.

“I don’t care if the cursed thing comes back a thousand times, I don’t care if the entire Court comes banging on our front door looking for him, I don’t care if he grows horns and fur and extra limbs, I don’t care if the  _whole damn town_  burns down around us –  _no one_  is taking our son!”

She looked at Logan, with an expression like she really would fight the whole Court.

“You will  _never_  have to go with the fae, sweetheart,” she said firmly, “ _Neve_ _r,_ ”

She was wrong. Fundamentally wrong, making a variety of assumptions about their ability to stop anyone who disagreed, and Logan didn’t care even a little.

Logan heard someone laughing, nervous and slightly hysterical, and when Mom’s face softened into gentle understanding he realized it was him.

He couldn’t stop; it was like the relief was overflowing out of him. Dad and Thomas were smiling too, and Logan could see Patton across the room, grinning with triumph, Virgil wearing a fond smirk beside him, and practically feel the smugness radiating of  _both_  Gage’s behind him.

He could see the other occupants of the room as well, their faces closing off in distrust – a fae reaction, borderline textbook. Laughing at funerals, crying at weddings. Never the  _correct_  emotional responses.

But the list of people who’s opinions were important was very short, and all of  _them_  were smiling.

Dr.Quickel suddenly slammed his hand against the wall. Most people jumped, Logan included, his laughter stuttering.

“I won’t allow it!” he shouted.

Patton’s father stood at this point, fairly short but broad as a truck, and glowered at Dr. Quickel.

“I’d like to see what, exactly, you think your gonna do about it,”

“Oh gee, uh,” Patton moved in between them, a little alarmed. Normally that alone would be enough diffuse a situation, but now it only seemed to agitate everyone further.

“Like yours is any better!” snarled Dr. Quickel, the whites of his eyes visible around the whole of his iris. Patton flinched minutely, and Logan and Virgil made nearly identical hostile noises.

“We’ve survived just fine for years, and now these  _hooligans_  are causing all this trouble-”

“-threatening the other kids, they’re all afraid of him-”

“ _Where_ -”

“-how many fights that Gage boy started-”

“- _Where_ _is_ -”

“-conjuring animals and jinxing anyone who looks at him crossways-”

“ _Where is he!”_

“Oh, son of a  _bitch_ ,” grumbled Roman.

And when the first of the adults took a swing at his neighbor, Logan couldn’t help but agree.

* * *

Bad, bad, bad,  _very bad._

Virgil dragged the closest chair in front of the door they’d come through – it wouldn’t stop her, but it might slow her down long enough for Virgil to draw her away from the humans. Logan’s father had already had hold of him, and he was now being fought off by both Logan and Roman.

Logan’s brother – Thomas, Virgil was pretty sure – was dodging, panicked, through the violence, and Virgil rushed in and plucked him out of the way just as one of the women nearly caught him in the face with wicked-looking nails.

Thomas held both hands out to steady himself.

“Good?” said Virgil.

Thomas tilted his head, a little stunned.

Then he rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“I leave him alone for  _one day_  and he gets himself  _another_ boyfriend,” he muttered.

Virgil felt his face flush, but he didn’t have time to be indignant before something that sounded solid and  _huge_  thunked against the back door.

“ _Shit_ ,”

Virgil threw himself forward, fruitlessly putting his weight against the door. Except it was warping and sort of melting, so when a mottled, distorted limb reached forward it went right past him.

Toward Thomas, who had apparently thought holding the door closed with Virgil was a  _great plan_.

“Get back you  _moron!_ ” shrieked Virgil.

“It’s fine, it’s not working on me because of Roman’s doll thin-”

Thomas’s strained voice cut off just as the limb brushed his cheek.

A black mark bloomed at the spot and a single gem fell from his mouth; his pupils dilated and his face went totally slack, frozen for a second, and then he crumpled in a heap to the floor.

The mass in front of Virgil kept pressing forward, blurring through the door and the wall. Virgil lurched backward at the last second, avoiding it’s touch by a razor’s edge.

 

**ẅ̺̗̦̻́̀̾̎he͍̦͎͇ͪͤ̌͋ͬ͂r̰ͨ̉ͬͫ͑̆̏ͅĕ̥̥͇̬̠̱͕̉ ́̄͑̎̀i͚̬̻̦͚͈ͧͣ̈s̟̙̱ͮ́̈́ ̄͌̾͆̌ͤ̚h̖͙ͯē̺͕ͣ̈**

 

“Greta,” he said, his voice desperate, “C’mon, you don’t wanna do this,”

She didn’t stop moving forward, heedless of the humans she touched as she passed and the blackness that bloomed on their skin. It was like she didn’t even see them. She certainly couldn’t seem to see _Virgil_.

 

**ẅ̺̗̦̻́̀̾̎he͍̦͎͇ͪͤ̌͋ͬ͂r̰ͨ̉ͬͫ͑̆̏ͅĕ̥̥͇̬̠̱͕̉ ́̄͑̎̀i͚̬̻̦͚͈ͧͣ̈s̟̙̱ͮ́̈́ ̄͌̾͆̌ͤ̚h̖͙ͯē̺͕ͣ̈**

 

“I’m  _right here!”_ howled Virgil. It wasn’t like she had an expression, or even a face, but there was no sign she even understood she’d been spoken to.

The whole room was spinning now, the edges smearing into each other. Virgil bent double with nausea and wondered if this was it, and his mad, senseless sister was really going to kill him.

Something rammed into his side and Virgil staggered, head swimming. He blinked rapidly as he looked up, and his heart froze in dread.

Patton was trembling, looking impossibly small and fragile between Virgil and Greta, his hands held out in front of him like he was trying to placate a startled horse. Virgil had the irrational urge to laugh.

“Calm down, _”_  said Patton. His voice barely shook.

The creature slowed but only just, still moving closer. Patton didn’t move.

“Calm down, Mrs. Fischer,” he said, and then he actually took a step _forward._

Like she was fighting every inch, she crawled to a stop. She was twisting wildly now, a fuzzy mass of writhing limbs and foggy colors. Patton made a soft crooning noise, not even an order that time, and she seemed to shudder.

“Calm down, Greta,” Patton said, and then she drew in on herself.

She was still not right – far more reptilian than human, towering over them even standing on all four – five – seven? – of her clawed limbs, and Virgil couldn’t look directly at her. She was perfectly still.

She pitched forward, just an inch, and every person in the room hit their knees at the same time.

_Whatwhatwhat’shappening_ _W_ _hereamIwhatshappening_ _Pleasehelp_ _helpmehelpmeeverythinghurts_ _**pleasehelpplease** _ _**P̲̣̝͒͊L̹̻̦͓ͤ̔̽ͧ̏̔E̙̪ͤ̓̔͐͒͊A͎͓̖̥̪̽̈̓̒͆S̹̫̥̝͍̾͊͌̏͂̌̉E** _

She was growing out of control again and Patton shouted something Virgil couldn’t make out over the roaring in his ears. The pain receded, quieting by a few degrees.

_**I’msorryI’msorryhurtinghurtinghurtingwhereamIwhereisheIcan’tfindhimwheredidhego** -_

“Virgil’s over there,” said Patton in a strained voice, “See, look. He’s right there. Calm down, you  _gotta_ calm down Mrs. Fischer, you’re  _sick_ ,”

Virgil got the impression of being scrutinized, and the ache in his skull receded again, until it was only a faint pressure behind his eyes.

_**SickHurting**. _ _P̫͙̓̓̌ͣͯḻ͖͖̺̒̑͋͐̆e̱͙̗̤̋a̐s̬̤̳͆͊̓̒͊̍͑ȅ̝̩̠̭͑_ _. Pleasehelpme._

“It’s okay,” comforted Patton, sounding like he was on the verge of tears. “Everything’s gonna be fine, Mrs. Fischer. Just calm down,”

She shuffled and Virgil shouldn’t have been able to get body language from something so utterly inhuman but he’d recognize Greta realizing she was in trouble if you blindfolded him.

“Hey, Grettie,” he said brokenly, “Are you feeling a little better?”

A moment of hesitation, and then an indistinct movement that might have been a nod.

“Alright,” he said, hanging his head, feeling nearly boneless with relief. “That’s good,” he finished faintly.

People weren’t fighting anymore – most of them had collapsed where they stood, but a few were still awake. They stared into the distance, pulling their hair and rocking while making low, desperate noises.

“Okay,” said Patton, “Let’s, um- Let’s try going outside. Will you go out to the back yard, please, Mrs. Fischer?”

Virgil moved around the two of them quickly, pulling the humans between Greta and the door out of her way. There was the briefest flash of what he though might have been cautious  _amusement,_ and then all towering ten feet of her warped through the kitchen wall, missing all the mortals entirely.

Virgil gave a slightly neurotic laugh as he followed her out through the  _actual_ door, Patton close behind him, Roman and Logan rushing to bring up the rear. May was shuffling around the unconscious bodies, administering more of those bottles of liquid.

When they stepped onto the porch, Greta was writhing again, but this time more agitated than hostile. Patton soothed her, but it had less effect.

“ _ **C͉̖̊ͣ̐́̑a̓l̬̺͉͚̫͎̱li̟̙n͈͉̭̮̅g͕̳̞͊ͩ͛͆**_ ****,” she said. Virgil flinched at her voice, grating and surreal and utterly unrecognizable.

“I don’t understand,” said Patton, “Can you explain, please?”

A particularly painful-looking distortion was his answer.

“ _ **B̲̤̪̰̟͍̆ö͉̙͎̟̀̅ͧ́̆́ň͖̭̠̳͗͑ͨ̌ͯe̥̭̮͗s̩̙͉̣̽̆̔̃**_ **** **,”**

Patton winced apologetically.

“I’m sorry Mrs. Fischer but I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me,”

“ _ **C̦̼͊̏̓̈́ͬͨä̳̱̾̇͆̾l̫̪͎̲̮̰l̞̲͍ͣ͌̀ͅi͕͙̥͎̞̩̿n͓̺̪͖̣ͦ͒ͯ̈́̚g̠̻̓͑**_ _ **.**_ _ **B̲̤̪̰̟͍̆ö͉̙͎̟̀̅ͧ́̆́ň͖̭̠̳͗͑ͨ̌ͯe̥̭̮͗s̩̙͉̣̽̆̔̃**_ **** _ **.**_ _ **G͑ͨͬ̑o͓̞͎i͎͕̠͉̘̙ͮ͆̅̉́̎͆ͅn̖̫̖̹̫̲͓ͫ̊ͫg̰̘̣̼̳̟̥ͬ̾̎͋̆̍**_ ****,”

She moved then, spilling over the edge of the porch into the grass, following the path of dead vegetation she must have made on her way there.

“ _ **B̲̤̪̰̟͍̆ö͉̙͎̟̀̅ͧ́̆́ň͖̭̠̳͗͑ͨ̌ͯe̥̭̮͗s̩̙͉̣̽̆̔̃**_ ,” she repeated.

“Mrs- No,  _wai_ -”

But Patton didn’t get the whole word out before Greta contorted and snapped out of their line of sight.

“Well,” said Roman heavily. “It definitely could have… been  _worse?_ ”

“Roman, I love you, but if you could please  _not_  tempt fate I would be so  _very_  happy,” said Patton wearily.

Roman’s face blazed scarlet.

Logan hadn’t said anything, and he remained wordless as he went back into the house.

It wasn’t quite as bad as what they had described to Virgil when they’d mentioned their school. No weapons, improvised or otherwise, had been drawn, and most of the blood was from split lips and busted noses rather than teeth or clawing hands.

But while many of them were already sitting back up, bewildered, and still more were barely rousing, nearly a third of them remained totally still. All of them with those void-black marks on their bodies.

Logan had stopped just inside the door, hunching in on himself. His parents were awake, kneeling on the tile, and Virgil brought his hands up to squeeze Logan’s arms, a desperate attempt at reassurance.

Thomas was laid between them, so still he could be easily mistaken for a corpse if it weren’t for the faintest rise and fall of his chest. Where Virgil’s hand touched Logan he was trembling like a sapling in a storm.

They’d said the whole town could burn, but Virgil doubted they’d been including their other son when they’d said it.

Roman pulled Logan away, back towards the living room. He’d make himself sick if he looked too long and they all knew it.

May had run out of bottles apparently, and was cleaning someone’s lip with a little ball of cotton and a liquid that made Virgil’s nose burn. When they got close enough, Virgil could see that her hands were shaking. Every once in a while she would blink rapidly and sway.

It occurred to him that staying up for an entire day and night straight might not be very healthy for an old woman.

“How’d it go,” she said tightly, “Yer all alive, so clearly not too bad,”

“She said something about her bones and left,” said Roman.

May pinched her brow in concentration and then sighed heavily.

“I can’t drive,” she said wearily, “I’m liable to crash us into a ditch. Patton, how’re you?”

“I’m fine,” said Patton, and even though Virgil could see his knees wavering slightly, he actually did believe him, “I slept a little at your house,”

She nodded and handed him the keys.

“See what ya can do,” she said, “If she still had people tearing their hair out  _calm,_  I’d hate to see what happens if ya leave her alone too long,”

“But what do we  _do?_ ” said Roman, “Is there some kind of- a sort of spell we could do to fix her?”

“You think we haven’t tried just about every exorcism that exists on that haint?” said May, “Me and you, my Momma  _and_ yours? She’s good and stuck, baby, I don’t know what to tell ya,”

Roman deflated.

“But if she says go to her bones, that’s probably yer best bet,” May concluded. Her face had gone incredibly sad. Her eyes twitched to the backdoor, and with her sorrow softening her face, Virgil realized she actually did look just a little bit like Trudi.

“After all,” she said quietly, “I can’t imagine she’s any less miserable than we are,”

* * *

When Patton pulled into the chapel parking lot, he tried really hard not to reveal how disappointed he was that Mrs. Fischer wasn’t waiting for them.

He knew they hadn’t meant to interrogate him, but that’s what it had felt like as they grilled him with questions about him coming to the graveyard. He’d talked around the truth of it even though it made him feel like he’d swallowed a stone. It sat heavy in the bottom of his stomach, too present, impossible to ignore.

He led them in, keeping his voice down as he greeted each individual stone even though they all knew the others could hear him just fine. He could feel embarrassment prickling at his cheeks.

Logan had known, but he hadn’t really  _known_ , and neither of them had never mentioned it to Roman or brought it up in the clearing. Logan had probably thought Patton had  _stopped_ coming after getting friends that were actually alive. The secrecy had been about the bunny, mostly, but even before that Patton had just been embarrassed. He wasn’t even entirely sure if the silent impressions of responses were real or if it was just his own overactive imagination.

He’d spent so much time here before becoming friends with Logan, talking to the only people who couldn’t run away. It wouldn’t be even a little surprising if he’d just made up the other half of the conversation, too.

He finally came to the last stone, and Patton could feel Virgil radiating absolute misery behind him. “Margareta Fischer” was written in stark block letters, “Tobias” right next to her. There was no Gertrude, but Patton wondered if they might be able to go look for her, for Virgil. Then he wondered if that might just be even worse.

“Mrs. Fischer?” he called.

He got no response, out loud or otherwise.

Patton’s prickly embarrassment was spreading from his cheeks now. These were her bones, right? Margareta was a bit of a weird name, how many Margareta Fischer’s could have lived in Wickhills?

“Mrs. Fischer, are you there?” he said.

Still nothing.

“Please come out,” said Patton quietly, before he’d even thought about it.

Something shuffled several feet to their left, small and low to the ground, and Patton realized he’d made a pretty spectacular mistake.

“Oh, a bunny-” Roman started, and then Patton could practically hear the moment he got a better look at it. “Uh. Is it just me or does that rabbit not look so good?”

Patton somehow felt like the walls were closing in him even though they were in open air. He looked down at the rabbit, and it seemed like the stone in his stomach was growing and spreading, turning all his insides to rock.

Clumps of the bunny’s fur were starting to fall out, and both its eyes were glazed over with chalky, sightless white. It probably hadn’t seen the others, but now that it heard Roman’s voice it had frozen in fear.

“It’s okay,” said Patton, his voice too high and so quiet he could barely hear himself.

The bunny cocked an ear towards Patton, slowly shuffling forward again. Patton made a soft, distressed noise when he saw how it limped, one of its legs stiff and unresponsive.

“Is it even a rabbit?” said Logan warily, “It doesn’t seem… quite right,”

Patton couldn’t contain the tiny sob that burst out of his mouth, but it was enough to get their attention. Roman stepped towards Patton in alarm.

“Hey, Patton-cake it’s okay, I don’t think it can hurt you, it’s just sick,”

Patton wanted to throw up.

"I’ll get it,” said Virgil, and then he pulled a knife out of his sleeve and Patton lunged in between him and the rabbit.

“No!” he shouted, pressing his hands to Virgil’s chest, “No, please, it’s not his fault, please,”

“What- what’s not his fault?” said Virgil quietly, “Hey, c'mon Pat. Why are you crying?”

Patton shook his head, and when he heard the rabbit shuffle closer once more he couldn’t bear it another second, he must be in so much  _pain_ -

He turned, reaching out and pulling the little bunny into his arms. The smell had long since stopped bothering him, but the others must have just now caught wind of it; Patton heard Roman cough, gagging, behind him.

“Heal,” said Patton, as quiet as he could. They all heard him anyway. It didn’t matter. It was over. It was all over.

They fell dead silent, and Patton stayed turned away from them as the bunny’s fur grew back, from limp grey to brown and soft, it’s eyes clearing and it’s lame leg pulling back to it’s body. He stayed turned away for several more seconds, putting it off as long as he could. He didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to see their faces.

“Patton?” said Roman hesitantly.

Patton cuddled the bunny closer, and it burrowed into his shirt. The rabbit loved Patton. Even though this was Patton’s fault, the rabbit didn’t know that, and it loved Patton even though he didn’t deserve it.

He turned, and all three of them stood up straight as the whole and unharmed rabbit came into their view.

Patton looked down into the dirt and said nothing.

“Pat,” said Virgil quietly, “I’m getting a feeling you know something about this rabbit,”

Patton gave a little hiccup through his tears and nodded miserably.

Roman took a step forward with his hands held out, like he was going to hug Patton after everything, and he must not understand, because he’d never want to even come  _near_  Patton if he did, and Patton couldn’t hide it anymore, it was over, and he was so  _tired_  of secrets anyway-

“It was an accident,” he said brokenly.

“I- I mean-” he hurriedly wiped his eyes and the rabbit shuffled in his arms as he shifted, “The- the first time, anyway,”

“What was an accident?” said Logan.

Patton whimpered.

“Patton-“

"It was  _dying_ ,” he cried, “It was- it was hurt and I didn’t mean to, I didn’t know-”

“Patton, slow down,”

“I told it not to die,” Patton finally blurted miserably. “And now- now it just rots and it was an  _accident_  but it’s my fault, it’s  _horrible_ , it just keeps rotting away and I didn’t know what to  _do_ ,”

Roman finally crossed the space between them, wrapping his arms around Patton, and Patton broke.

The bunny twitched in between them but it didn’t try to get away as Patton buried his face in Roman’s shirt and sobbed. Roman carded his fingers through Patton’s hair, soothing.

“It’s okay,” he said.

“It’s  _not_ ,” Patton cried miserably, “It’s hurting and it’s all my fault, I’m a  _monster-_ ”

A cool hand brushed against Patton’s cheek, pressing his face up, and Patton followed the pressure and looked up at Logan.

Logan hesitated, then placed his hand more fully against Patton’s cheek and gave him a small, tense smile.

“You told me once,” he said quietly, “That you were not going to hold me accountable for something I could not control,”

Patton’s lip wobbled.

“I responded in kind, if I remember correctly,” Logan continued.

“This is different,” said Patton desperately.

“I am going to have to disagree,”

“It’s not  _right_ ,” said Patton, “It’s evil,”

“‘Right’ is subjective,” said Logan, “Society has over the course of millennia deemed many things ‘right’ which seem abhorrent to us. And you have done harm, yes, but it was not meant deliberately and continues out of good intentions. I do not think this qualifies as ‘evil’ under any system,”

“You’re the softest little puffball we’ve got,” said Roman softly, “You’re hardly a monster,”

Virgil didn’t say anything, but he did lay a hand on the back of Patton’s neck and run his thumb back and forth.

Patton sniffed, and the bunny was starting to grow agitated, boxed in between all of them. Patton moved back and the others spread out, giving him room.

“Sorry, bunny,” said Patton quietly. He bent down and placed it in the grass. It gave a few cursory hops, almost like it was testing the weight of it’s freshly restored limbs, and then turned back to Patton, blinking curiously.

“It’s okay,” said Patton, “Go home, bunny,”

What happened next happened very quickly. Patton didn’t have time to cry out or speak. He didn’t know what he would have said or done if he had.

The bunny – folded, almost. Collapsed like a deflated birthday party balloon. It’s muscles seemed to evaporate and then there was only an inert pile of bones and fur.

It was over in less than a second. If Patton had blinked he would have missed it completely.

It didn’t look like it hurt, which some faint and distant part of Patton could appreciate, but most of his attention was being taking up by the building pressure in his chest and the ringing in his ears. The walls-closing-in feeling returned and Patton’s vision spun – he heard a terrified, animalistic noise and only barely realized it came from his own mouth.

“Pat, calm down,” said Virgil, gentling, placing his arms around Patton’s waist, and the second Virgil touched him Patton shattered.

Virgil didn’t even hesitate, scooping Patton into his arms and carrying him to the truck. He barely registered as they piled into it, Roman at the wheel.

It was over. He should be relieved. The bunny couldn’t hurt anymore. He should be grateful.

Patton should be a lot of things. Somehow, he usually managed to be none of them.

**Author's Note:**

> we're in the end game now, yall.


End file.
